


Mr. Punch Line

by witteefool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlockary - Freeform, Multi, OT3, PWP, Smut, The Empty Hearse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witteefool/pseuds/witteefool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary and John decide to take Mr. Punch Line in hand and for once Sherlock has no objections to voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Punch Line

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as quickly as I could the night before The Sign of Three so if any of this is invalidated by that episode I will claim ignorance. 
> 
> I have plans for a sequel, perhaps with a bit more plot, but also with much more smut.

     John stared at the smooth skin in front of him, mesmerized by the milky whiteness. He blinked quickly and looked into her eyes—were they really prepared to do this? She smiled at him, running her hand down the man’s side, the other ruffling his dark curls.  
  
    “Do get on with it,” spoke the man between them, his deep voice showing none of the anticipation his dilated eyes revealed.  
  
    “You don’t get any say in this,” responded John. He cupped his hand’s against the bulge below him and received a lengthened exhale in return.  
  
    Sherlock attempted to buck back into John’s grip but the hand was snatched away too quickly, “Hold his hips, Mary.”  
  
    Mary giggled slightly, removing her hands from Sherlock’s upper body to hold tight as his hips.  
  
    “This position makes no sense at all,” the younger man complained once more, clearly growing more frustrated by the moment. That wasn’t surprising to John—it was Sherlock’s utter lack of patience that had led to this idea in the first place.  
  
    “For a genius you don’t have much of an imagination,” John responded with a smirk.  
  
    He lent down and applied a few biting kisses to Sherlock’s thighs, who continued to try and get more stimulation than was possible from how he was laid out. John pinched at his rear, earning a squeak Sherlock would surely deny later.  
  
    Sherlock continued to squirm as Mary began to copy John’s kisses on his neck and ear, alternating between tiny bites and presses of lips. His breathing grew more and more labored even as short, surprisingly high-pitched moans elicited from his mouth.  
  
    “I think he’s ready now, love,” said Mary, “We don’t want to drive our consulting detective mad, do we?”  
  
    If John hadn’t been halfway hard himself he might have voiced a disagreement with that sentiment (yes, he’d forgiven, but he hadn’t entirely forgotten.) Instead, he pulled down the silken boxer shorts and heeded his wife’s request.  
  
    He fumbled for the lube resting on the bedside table, clicking open the top to spread some on his fingers. Mary extended her left hand and he placed a squirt on her’s as well.  
  
    Now the real fun would begin.  
  
    “Sherlock, if this gets to be too much, you know what to say.” He warned.  
  
    The other man simply scoffed, which John had expected. Sherlock, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking clearly enough to expect anything, because he let out a sustained moan as soon as John began his to stroke over his erection.  
  
    “Johhhnnn,” He whimpered.  
  
    John grinned lasciviously, looked over the stretched out body of the detective to stare into his wife’s sparkling eyes. He nodded at her and she reached her hand down as well, pulling up at his hip with the other. As she began to stroke over his perineum, Sherlock’s tune changed,  
  
    “Mary, ahhhhh.”  
  
    Eventually their joint strokes confused the syllables all together, a combination of aw’s surrounded by various consonants echoing through the room.  
  
    As Mary reached her first finger inside Sherlock, John pulled lightly as his balls, knowing it would take a bit longer to prepare before any of the threesome could orgasm. John was pleased with their progress so far—any moaning and groaning from Sherlock now was entirely welcome.  
  
    “You asked about our position,” John began as Mary slid a second finger in, scissoring them as Sherlock panted and sighed.  
  
    Mary took that as her queue to buck her own hips and John suddenly wished he’d thought to film this encounter. Sherlock’s eyes widen impossibly and he ceased to breath for a full second, feeling the implement Mary had strapped around her waist.  
  
    “No comment, then? That’s a first.” John gave a quick peck at Sherlock’s cheek before diving downwards.  
  
    As Mary slid slowly in, John placed his mouth on Sherlock’s cock and began to suck, his tongue teasing the tip. This time Sherlock’s moan was closer to a scream, his leg twitching against the mattress as he was stimulated at both ends.  
  
    It took Mary only one brush against his prostate before John was swallowing him down, the continual “ahhhh” dying into a series of tiny exhalations. Sherlock, always active outside the bedroom, became nothing but dead weight as he collapsed downwards onto Mary’s lithe body.  
  
    John helped Mary extricate herself and push the slender man in between them as they all relaxed on the wide bed. His erection clamored quietly for attention but he chose to enjoy the quiet instead.  
  
    Mary pushed up to lean over Sherlock’s body even as the younger man’s breathing began to even out (clearly they’d made that great brain slow down a bit, if Sherlock was willing to sleep just after dinner.)  
  
    “Next time we should try the handcuffs.” She said mischievously.  
  
    Sherlock’s eye’s blinked open, but to everyone’s great surprise Mr. Punch Line had no response at all.


End file.
